


A Safe Place To Hide Us Away

by nothingwithoutyouxo



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Crack, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 17:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12869823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwithoutyouxo/pseuds/nothingwithoutyouxo
Summary: Moritz was the absolute only person in the world who knew where Melchior's thinking tree was, and with a need to escape his reality more and more, Moritz decides to use that knowledge and to seek out the company of his best friend.





	A Safe Place To Hide Us Away

**Author's Note:**

> This took me A While to write but here it is !!! (Also sorry for the lame summary it's getting late(ish) and I honestly have no idea how to summarise this fic oops)
> 
> The title is from The Tide by Niall Horan because it's one of my absolute favourites from his album and I thought of these two while listening to it once and then this happened.

“What are you doing here? I mean, how did you find me here?”

 

Moritz expected as much. No one knew where Melchior’s thinking tree was. They just knew that he had one, or at least, that he had a place he would run off to when things got Too Much. He’d never brought anyone to his thinking tree. It was _his_ place. As far as he knew, he was undiscoverable when he was here. At least, he had been. Moritz twisted his hands in front of him and stared at the grass, avoiding Melchior’s eyes.

 

“Moritz?” Melchior prompted. He closed the book in his lap and placed it next to him. “Are you ok?”

 

 _Please don’t be angry. Please don’t be angry._ “Can I sit with you?”

 

There was a pause. Moritz could feel Melchior’s eyes on him, and for a moment he regretted coming here. Then Melchior finally spoke.

 

“Of course you can sit with me, but I hope that means you’ll answer my questions.”

 

Moritz nodded and dropped to the ground next to Melchior. He pulled at his sleeves and his hair and didn’t speak.

 

“Moritz?”

 

“Remember when we were seven and I used to follow you everywhere?” he asked. He hadn’t really had a reason at the time. Melchior was his best friend, and he wanted to be with him as much as possible, because that’s what friendship meant to him then. It was something that never really faded, a need to be with Melchior, but with Moritz increasingly being terrified of _annoying_ him, he tried to give him at least a decent amount of space.

 

Melchior shifted, leaning against the tree behind him, and crossing his arms over his chest. “Your mum used to say it was because you had a crush on me,” he teased.

 

“She - she’s wrong. I didn’t … have a crush on you.”

 

He smiled at that, noticed the blush rising in Moritz’s cheeks but didn’t mention it. He nudged him gently, trying to prompt Moritz to look up at him. “So you found it because you followed me when we were little. That was a long time ago, why come here now?”

 

Moritz shrugged. He had his reasons, a lot of them. Or rather, a lot of little ones that lead to one big one. “If I’m interrupting I can go,” he said. “If you want me to, I mean.”

 

He shook his head. “It’s fine, Moritz. Really.”

 

“You weren’t at home,” he explained, “and I needed y - I needed to get away from home for a bit so I thought that maybe you would be here.”

 

“Well, you found me,” he smiled. “If there’s something wrong, Moritz, you know you can talk to me about it right?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong. Just … my parents …” he trailed off.

 

“Fighting again?”

 

“Uh, yeah.”

 

“You can forget about that then. Nothing like that exists under the tree.” Melchior pointed up, at the long branches that fanned out above their heads, green leaves twisting from them every which way..

 

“Thanks,” he shrugged.

 

Melchior looked over at his best friend. He wasn’t sure but he thought Moritz might have been hiding something from him, but he must have been mistaken. Moritz never hid anything from him. There was no reason for him to. He watched as Moritz continued to twist his hands in his lap, threading his fingers together and then pulling them apart again. He did that for what had to be a few minutes before he seemed to relax and leaned back against the tree as well.

 

“So what were you reading?” he asked.

 

***

 

“So it’s actually a tree then?” Ilse asked. The two of them were in the library, textbooks strewn out in front of them as they tried their best to make sense of their calculus class. Ilse was a firm believer in a good set of notes, but she also wasn’t really the best at making them. Moritz wasn’t really the best person to study with either, but she enjoyed his company and she could tell that he’d been a little on edge lately.

 

“Yeah, it’s a real tree. Like one of those big oak trees that are a hundred years old or something,” he shrugged, pen skimming the same sentence he’d been trying to read for the past ten minutes.

 

“An oak tree? Interesting,” she mused.

 

“What did you expect?” he asked. “Also what did you get for question three?”

 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, flicking through her notebook to find the answer he was after. “I wasn’t even sure if it _was_ actually a tree, you know?”

 

“Why would he lie about it being a tree then?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe to hide his secret cabin in the woods where he does … I don’t know taxidermy? Or like, carve stuff out of metal or wood or something? You know, weird stuff.”

 

Moritz looked up at her, the calculus questions easily forgotten. “Taxidermy?” he asked. “Seriously?”

 

“It’s the weirdest thing I can think of,” she defended. “And the answer is fifty-seven.”

 

“He wouldn’t be good at taxidermy or crafty stuff. He’s not good with his hands like that.”

 

“You would know,” she smirked.

 

“Ilse!”

 

The two of them were interrupted by a very abrupt ‘shhh’ from the direction of the librarian. Moritz stuttered out a quick apology before trying to turn back to his textbook. Ilse closed hers, dragging her sketchbook across the table, she was far too distracted now to think about calculus.

 

“You have gone so red,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice down.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“I’ll have to start calling you Tomato Boy.”

 

He looked up at her, staring daggers in her direction as she set up her drawing pencil set and contemplated it.

 

“Oh come on, Moritz,” she laughed. “Tomatoes are great. It’s a great nickname for you. You get embarrassed a lot you know. Especially when it comes to Melchior. Hmm, I wonder what that could mean,” she mused.

 

“Whatever you think it means it’s not that,” Moritz said, voice strained. Why was she always right about everything?

 

“Plus, it’s better than Beet Boy,” she added.

 

Moritz flinched, causing Ilse to look up at him in concern. Recognition sparked in her eyes and she suddenly looked incredibly sad.

 

“Worse?” she asked.

 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

 

She nodded, turning back to her pencils though he could tell that she no longer had any intention of drawing.

 

***

 

“Did you know that Shakespeare was bisexual?”

 

Melchior looked up at Moritz as he walked over to him. Under any other circumstances, he’d probably be surprised at the break in the silence around him but he didn’t really mind if it was Moritz. The first thing he noticed was how rattled he looked, so he decided not to mention it. Or even question why Moritz was here at his tree again. He wasn’t sure if the answer would matter anyway. Melchior didn’t say anything as Moritz took a seat next to him, twisting the sleeves of his hoodie around his wrists and still talking.

 

“I thought you would know that. You know, you of all people, and that it would matter to you. Since you were reading Shakespeare last time. I looked it up. People think at last half of his sonnets were about men. Isn’t that cool? I thought it was cool. I thought you would find it cool. I don’t know.”

 

“One hundred and twenty six,” he said.

 

“What?” Moritz wasn’t quite looking at him, and Melchior wasn’t sure why that bothered him.

 

“A hundred and twenty six of his sonnets were addressed to a man. That’s more than half of them,” he explained.

 

“Cool.”

 

A pause. Melchior waited, unsure of what Moritz really wanted from this conversation but not willing to question him when he seemed so shaken.

 

“So, uh, what are you reading today? More Shakespeare? Vonnegut? Kerouac?”

 

“Harry Potter actually,” he replied, lifting the book in his lap so that Moritz could see the cover of _The Philosopher's Stone_. “Needed a break from classics, I guess.”

 

“God, I haven’t read Harry Potter in … years probably. Definitely years. I think it was before the last movie. Or something. I was going to bring something to read but I didn’t and I should have because then I wouldn’t be talking and bothering you and you could read and I could -”

 

“You’re not bothering me.”

 

“And I could read and we would both be reading.”

 

Melchior moved closer to Moritz so that they were right next to each other and shifted the book so that it was resting against them both. “We can read it together if you like,” he said.

 

“Oh, um, I don’t - I mean, I’m a slow reader so I shouldn’t hold you up.”

 

“I could always read it out loud,” he shrugged.

 

“What? You would? You don’t have to do that.”

 

Melchior smiled, nudged Moritz's arm gently. “It’s fine. It’ll help you focus. That’s why you don’t read, right?”

 

“Yeah."

 

“Too easy.” Melchior gently flicked back to the first page, a small illustration of baby Harry wrapped in a blanket welcoming them.

 

“You don’t have to start again! You were already half way through. I’ve read them before.”

 

“Moritz,” he said, the tone of his voice somehow enough to relax him. “It’s fine.”

 

***

 

“Ilse!”

 

Ilse turned at the sound of her name and saw Melchior rushing up to her. He looked somewhere between upset and worried and she automatically knew that this conversation would be about Moritz. She took a deep breath. “Melchi,” she greeted.

 

“How are you?” To his credit, he was trying to seem casual, but Melchior had never really been good at pretending.

 

“I’m good,” she replied, playing along. “Stressed. My art final is due next month and it’s nowhere near finished.”

 

“It’ll be amazing,” he said. “I know it will.”

 

“I hope so. I haven’t let anyone see it yet so there should be enough element of surprise to impress you all even if it’s horrible,” she smirked.

 

“You won’t need it.”

 

He was considerably more on edge than usual. It wasn’t something she was accustomed to. Melchior was usually the calmest of them all but he was abnormally stiff, clutching so tightly to the books in his arms that his knuckles had turned white. “What’s wrong, Melchi?” she asked, afraid of his answer.

 

“Have you spoken to Moritz recently?”

 

Well, at least he’d noticed that something was wrong. Maybe he was growing out of his usual obliviousness. “Here and there,” she replied. “We were studying together the other day.”

 

“Has he seemed … off to you at all?”

 

 _Like you’re being right now?_ “What do you mean?” she pressed.

 

Melchior hesitated, tapped against the books in his arms. _Was he fidgeting? He never fidgets._ “He found my thinking tree,” he explained. “Well, he found it when we were kids but he’s started coming there.”

 

“If you’re trying to get me to ask him to stop going to your special thinking spot then you’re out of luck.”

 

His brow furrowed. He looked almost offended at that. ”I would never ask you to do that.”

 

She sighed. “I know.”

 

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The bell rang overhead and the people around them started heading inside towards their classes. They didn’t move.

 

“Melchi, I can’t tell you what you want to know,” Ilse explained. “It’s not mine to tell, and it wouldn’t be fair to Moritz. He has to come to you himself.”

 

Melchior sighed, looking around them. They were the only two people left now, the schoolyard entirely quiet. “Should I be worried?” he asked, looking back at her.

 

She hesitated, but Ilse knew that was all the answer he needed. Melchior nodded, muttered a goodbye to her and then started heading inside. Ilse knew that she would be late for her next class, but she didn’t care. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment and just _wishing_ that things would be ok for change. If there was some kind of magical higher power, maybe someone would be listening. She didn’t know how she felt about that. Ilse adjusted her backpack and started heading inside.

 

***

 

It started getting more and more frequent. Moritz would show up desperately chatting away about something he was determined Melchior would have an interest in, or sometimes he didn’t speak at all. Melchior knew which of those worried him more. He started going to his tree more regularly, though he didn’t quite see it as his tree anymore. It was more _their_ tree. Mostly he was worried that Moritz would show up and he wouldn’t be there, and he didn’t know what would happen if that was the case. He didn’t want to find out either.

 

“I didn’t know you drew,” Melchior said. Moritz had showed up with a sketchbook this time, and a few pencils. He didn’t often bring anything with him so Melchior was carefully trying to figure out if this had some kind of significance.

 

“Oh, it’s, uh, not mine,” Moritz tried. He didn’t know why he was lying. He never really lied to Melchior. Sometimes he hid the truth but there was no reason to do that here. “It’s Ilse’s,” he added.

 

Melchior knew Ilse’s art style and he knew what her sketchbook looked like. Her current one was a pale green colour had vines drawn up one side of the front cover (courtesy of Wendla), the one Moritz was holding was just black. “Should she really be letting you borrow it so close to her art final thing?” he asked anyway.

 

Moritz shifted, clutching at the book and looking significantly more uncomfortable than he had when he’d sat down. “I guess not,” he shrugged. It was a jerky, forced movement.

 

Melchior had never felt more worried in his life. He wasn’t sure if he should push Moritz to tell him what was wrong or not. He thought that if Moritz wanted him to know, then he would have told him already.

 

“Ok, it’s mine,” he said, deflating like that confession was a large weight off his shoulders.

 

“Really?” Melchior couldn’t help but smirk at that.

 

“Yeah. I mean, it was Ilse’s but it was empty. She gave it to me.”

 

“Nice of her.”

 

Moritz shrugged. He ran his fingers over the hardcover of his sketchbook for a moment and then dropped it carefully into Melchior’s lap. “You can look at it if you want. It doesn’t matter.”

 

He hesitated but eventually opened it very carefully, treating it like it was the most precious thing on the planet. Moritz was tapping his fingers impatiently next to him, waiting.

 

“It’s mostly like trees and flowers I guess,” he explained. “It was Wendla’s idea.”

 

“You’re good,” Melchior replied, smiling at the fine lines curving on the pages. “Ilse taught you well.”

 

“I guess,” he shrugged again, trying to ignore the compliment for the most part.

 

“You should draw me.” It was mostly a joke, but Moritz seemed to take it seriously.

 

“What? I - I don’t know if I can do that. I mean - I - I don’t really do people. I could draw you like a flower or something. Or a tree. I could draw you this tree! But that’s - I think that might be all I can -”

 

“Moritz,” he laughed. “I was joking.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“But I wouldn’t say no to a drawing of this tree. It deserves it,” he mused.

 

“You picked a really good tree,” Moritz confirmed.

 

Melchior closed Moritz’s sketchbook and handed it back to him. “I also picked a really good best friend,” he smiled, savouring the surprised look on Moritz’s face. _More compliments_ , he thought. _I should give him more compliments_.

 

***

 

Ilse’s bedroom door crashed open and Moritz was already muttering an apology and saying something about how her mum had let him in. She paused the video game she was playing and tossed the controller down onto her bed.

 

“Moritz, what in the wor-”

 

“Do you have a door?” he asked her. His eyes were desperate, scanning the room every which way and never quite landing or anything.

 

“I would have a door if you hadn’t just broken mine,” she teased.

 

“Right. Sorry. But not your door. A different door. Like another one.”

 

“Why do you need a door?”

 

“Because I’m living in the fucking Titanic movie!”

 

Ilse looked at him for a moment. Moritz was breathing heavily and while he looked equally stressed, embarrassed and confused she didn’t really think there seemed to be anything wrong. “I have so many questions,” she muttered.

 

“I need a door and an ocean and I need to freeze to death,” he said, making his way over to her bed and sitting next to her. He placed his sketchbook next to her abandoned controlled and turned to her. “He wants me to draw him.”

 

“Melchior?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I can guarantee you he was joking,” she reassured.

 

“He was.”

 

“Then, Moritz, he doesn’t expect anything from you.”

 

He paused. Ilse knew that look, it was a look that meant that Moritz was trying to figure out what to say. It usually only occurred when he was about to ask for something, since he was always so strained when he did that. He’d never been one to ask for help. “I know he doesn’t,” he said, each word slow and careful, “but he’s right. I should draw him.”

 

Ilse wasn’t sure how to respond. She could see how serious he was, his hands shaking but not fidgeting. She nodded. “It’s not easy to draw people,” she reminded.

 

“Between you and Ernst I should be able to learn right?”

 

She smiled at that. Determination wasn’t common for him, but she couldn’t doubt that it was a good look. “Of course you will.”

 

***

 

“That one looks like a rabbit,” Melchior muttered, pointing at the clouds in the sky above them. Moritz had showed up to their tree shaking and halfway to a breakdown that afternoon so Melchior made him lie down and they started looking for shapes. It was simple, childlike activity but it really seemed to help.

 

“A rabbit?” Moritz asked. “Where’s the rabbit? I can see a dragon over there and I think that might be a … crown next to it?”

 

“I wasn’t aware we were in medieval times,” he replied, smiling at the way Moritz laughed at that.

 

“Oh, there’s the rabbit.”

 

“The dragon’s morphing into a lion now,” Melchior added, tracing the way the clouds were slowly shifting away.

 

“Can’t believe the wind ruins everything.”

 

“They’re not called the winds of change for nothing,” he smirked.

 

“I guess you’re right.” A pause. “If it’s a lion now does that mean that Aslan is watching over us?”

 

Melchior couldn’t help but laugh at that. He could feel Moritz’s eyes on him and suddenly felt incredibly at peace. “You know that Aslan was supposed to be like an anthropomorphic version of god, right?” he asked.

 

“Really?”

 

“Did you ever read the Narnia books? They got, like, passive aggressively more religious as they went on. It was really wild looking back on it now. I guess you don’t notice that kind of stuff as a kid.”

 

“I’ll add them to my reading list. You know, the one I have so I can pretend that I can read,” he joked.

 

“We could read those next. I guess we’d have to finish Harry Potter first,” Melchior smiled, no longer looking at the clouds but at the boy next to him.

 

Moritz had no idea what to say, and somehow having Melchior look at him really wasn’t helping his train of thought. “You don’t have to keep reading to me,” he said.

 

Melchior shrugged. “It’s fine, Moritz. Really, and I haven’t read them in years so I think it’d be fun to visit them again, you know?”

 

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The clouds continued to shift and change and the sky was slowly making its way from bright blue to a soft amber. A light breeze began to pick up, blowing through their hair. Moritz realised that he wanted to stay in this moment forever, but with sunset already approaching their time was running out

 

“Can I take a picture of you?” he asked.

 

Melchior looked over at him again. “Why?”

 

Moritz hesitated, pulled at his sleeves and avoided Melchior’s eyes. “It was Martha’s idea,” he explained. “She let me borrow her camera. She said that I should take pictures of happy moments. This is a happy moment.”

 

He nodded and watched as Moritz sat up, shuffling through his bag until he pulled out Martha’s purple Polaroid camera. Melchior could remember how happy she was when she bought it. It took her a few months to save up for it but she insisted that it was worth it.

 

“Is this weird?” Moritz asked. Melchior hadn’t said anything or so much as moved and he could feel regret creeping in.

 

Melchior shook his head and sat up as well. He shifted closer to Moritz and reached for the camera. “You just have to be careful with your settings. The film for this is so expensive and Martha sometimes forgets to check them.” He gently turned the dial so that it was no longer on night mode and smiled at the way Moritz froze when their fingers brushed. “You ok?” he pulled away.

 

Moritz nodded, looking down at the camera. He didn’t want to break it and he hadn’t even thought about wasting film. He was glad that Melchior had at least. All he knew that he felt incredibly overwhelmed and his fingers felt almost electric. “This is happiness, right?” he asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

***

 

“You might have been the first,” Wendla was saying, being careful not to drop the slightly overfilled bowl of popcorn in her hands as Ilse followed her with a bottle of wine and three glasses, “but you haven’t been the only one. He’s been taking pictures of all of us.” She placed the bowl in the middle of the small coffee table and took a seat at one end of the couch.

 

Ilse placed the three glasses down and popped the cork on the bottle. “It’s adorable,” she added, pouring out the red liquid evenly.

 

“What do you think he does with them?” Melchior asked, taking one of the glasses and leaning back into the couch as Ilse took a seat next to him.

 

“He has a tiny little square on his wall where he puts them up. It’s by his desk so he can easily stack books or something to hide them,” she replied.

 

“Why would he need to hide them?”

 

Ilse startled, dropping the handful of popcorn she was trying to scoop up. She looked over at Wendla, sharing a grim moment with her.

 

Melchior looked between the two girls, suspicion sneaking in. “What is it?”

 

“Melchi, I still can’t tell you,” Ilse muttered, eyes staying on the popcorn. She sighed and sat back, a hand moving to rest against Wendla’s knee. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Is he still using Martha’s camera?” Wendla asked, trying to lighten the mood. She could feel Melchior tensing up from where she was sitting and she really didn’t want that to happen. He could be stubborn in times like these and Ilse was set on not telling him anything, though she hadn’t quite figured out why.

 

“Yeah, he is.”

 

“He should get his own,” Melchior muttered.

 

“Was that an offer?” Ilse smirked.

 

“Yes, actually.”

 

“Oh, Melchi, I was joking. You don’t have to get him a camera.”

 

“I know. I want to. They’re not that expensive. It’s just the film that is really. I can afford it.”

 

“Martha probably wouldn’t mind her camera back,” Wendla added.

 

“Exactly.”

 

Ilse looked between the two of them. She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re a good friend, Melchi. You know that?”

 

He just shrugged and reached for some popcorn while Wendla finally pressed play.

 

“I think it’s a great idea,” she said.

 

“He’s good at all that art stuff. It’d help for him to have a camera, right?”

 

She smiled, hiding it behind her glass of wine. ”Definitely.”

 

“I hope Moritz can feel the love in this chili's tonight.”

 

“Ilse!”

 

***

 

When Melchior managed to get to their tree that day, Moritz was already there. He was slumped against the trunk, knees drawn up to his chest and resting his head against them. Melchior wouldn’t have been concerned except for the fact that he was sure Moritz was crying. Or had been, at least. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do, or whether he should mention it or not. He sat down next to Moritz and waited for him to react, only speaking after a few minutes of silence between the two of them.

 

“I think I have something that might cheer you up,” he said, because he was starting to worry now. He could hear Moritz’s shaky breathing and had no idea what to _do_ in this situation.

 

“D’nt need cheering up,” Moritz muttered, looking up at him. Melchior looked more concerned than he could remember him being and he had no idea why that was so. His eyes dropped to the box sitting in Melchior’s lap, confusion dawning.

 

Melchior shifted the box in his hands, offering it to Moritz (who had definitely been crying, his eyes were all puffy and Melchior felt _sick_ because of it). “This is for you,” he said.

 

Moritz looked at the box for a long moment. He had no way of knowing what it was since someone had wrapped it in blue paper. “What did you do?” he looked up at him. He could tell the question wasn’t what Melchior had been expecting, his eyebrows pulled together and he looked very deep in thought, as if he was trying to find the right words to say.

 

“It’ll make sense when you open it. I think.”

 

The box wasn’t heavy. It was quite light actually. He shook it, trying to assess what was in it and Melchior laughed at that.

 

“You might want to be a little more careful with it than that,” he said, smiling.

 

Moritz looked between him and the box again. He ran his fingers slowly over all the edges and corners. It was definitely a solid box. He tapped it to see what sound it would make. It wasn’t wood. Must have been cardboard. He wasn’t sure why he was stalling at this point. He could feel Melchior’s eyes on him, obviously waiting for his reaction to whatever was in the box. Moritz took a deep breath and slowly started peeling away the sticky tape.

 

“Ok, so you don’t have to be that careful.”

 

Moritz looked up at him. He looked excited. So it must have been an important gift then? Why would Melchior want to buy him something anyway?

 

“Think of it as an early birthday present,” Melchior replied and Moritz wondered if he could hear his thoughts. “Sorry, I’ll stop talking and let you just -” he gestured to the box again.

 

 _Oh, right._ Moritz slowly peeled away the wrapping paper, for some reason being extra careful not to rip it as if this small box, whatever it was, was the most precious thing in the universe. When he finally uncovered it he didn’t know what to say. All he knew was that he thought he might cry again. Melchior had given him a camera. It was just like Martha’s except this one was blue.

 

“It was either blue or black,” Melchior muttered. “And I’m realising now that I probably should have gotten you the black one but I thought you might like the colour. I think blue was your favourite colour when we were kids?”

 

“It was your favourite colour.”

 

“Oh. Sorry.”

 

Melchior hadn’t really thought this through and he knew that. It had been an impulse buy for the most part but he was sure that he’d had good intentions. When Moritz shook his head and slowly placed the camera next to him, Melchior felt regret start to pull at him. Maybe he should have asked first. Maybe Moritz didn’t even _want_ a camera. But then Moritz was moving. It was so sudden that Melchior hadn’t even thought to expect it. _Oh_ , he thought, because Moritz never really hugged him. They’d only ever hugged three times in their entire friendship, but as Moritz buried his head against his shoulder, Melchior was sure that this was different. This wasn’t them hugging for a picture taking but their mothers when they were about to start their first day at school. This wasn’t Hanschen daring the two of them to hug when they were ten because apparently it was _funny_ to make people uncomfortable, This wasn’t Moritz clinging to him at his grandmother’s funeral when they were thirteen. This was … different. Melchior hugged him back, pulling Moritz closer to him.

 

“Hey,” he muttered, when he heard Moritz sniffle against his shoulder. “It’s alright I can always exchange it for the black one if you want.”

 

“No, the blue is great.”

 

A pause.

 

“Melchi, is this weird?”

 

“No, I don’t find it weird.”

 

“Good ‘cause I don’t think I can let go of you at this point.”

 

Melchior couldn’t help smiling at that. “Then don’t”

 

***

 

It was barely 8am but Moritz was slowly weaving his way through the corridors to get to the art classroom. Ilse only had about two weeks to finish off her art final and she was working at it every single moment she could get, even before and after school. His footsteps echoed against the linoleum and it was enough to make him anxious, reminding me of every thriller or horror movie he’d seen. He had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. The school was open at this time. There were already teachers here, their cars out in the parking lot. Ilse was here, possibly some more of her classmates. Surely there would be some music students around, dance students, drama students. Anyone who had a creative piece to present in two weeks. When Moritz pulled the door to the art classroom open he was surprised to only find Ilse and Ernst working on their finals. Wendla was sitting on a table behind Ilse, a book resting in her lap. Ilse looked up at him as he entered.

 

“Close your eyes right now!”

 

He did. “I’m not here to look at your art stuff, don’t worry,” he reassured. “I just wanted to show you something.”

 

“I bet it’s the camera Melchi bought him,” Ernst muttered, brush poised in his hand as his eyes scanned carefully over his own canvas.

 

“How did you -”

 

“Everybody Talks by Neon Trees,” Ilse replied, dismissing the comment with a flick of her hand. She looked up at him and sighed. “Ok fine, you can be here but you can’t look at my work or I’ll kill you. Deal?”

 

Moritz opened his eyes to see Ilse staring daggers into him while Wendla was trying not to laugh. Ernst was wearing a smile that Moritz was sure wasn’t caused by whatever was on his canvas. “Deal,” he agreed, before making his way over to his friends. He sat cross-legged on one of the tables facing them as Wendla closed her book, put it back in her bag and shifted so that she was swinging her legs beneath her. “Why does Wendla get to see your art stuff?” he teased.

 

“Because Wendla makes me emotionally compromised,” Ilse replied.

 

“That might just be the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

 

“Honestly what isn’t the gayest thing she’s ever said,” Ernst smirked.

 

Ilse looked at her canvas for a moment and then sighed, putting her paintbrush down and turning to Moritz. “Alright show me the camera, lover boy.”

 

Moritz cringed at the nickname but pulled his new camera out of his bag slowly - worried that he’d managed to break it somehow already because that would be just his luck - and handed it to her.

 

“Oh, it’s cute,” Wendla smiled.

 

“I like the colour,” Ernst added, no longer focused on what he was painting.

 

“I was actually hoping that you would know how to put film in it. Martha always does it for her camera so I actually don’t know how to,” Moritz muttered, not looking at any of them, but down at his lap instead.

 

Ilse couldn’t help the smile that lit up her face at that comment. “God, I adore you,” she said.

 

He looked up at her, half shocked by the compliment and the other half confused.

 

“Have you got any film on you?”

 

Moritz startled into action, nodding and quickly pulling out a box of film from his bag. “Melchi got me one. He said he’d buy me more when I ran out but I don’t really want him to do that. They’re expensive.”

 

“What a nerd,” Wendla muttered.

 

Ilse bit her lip on her smirk and gently took the film from Moritz. She shifted her chair closer to him and opened the box, pulling the silver covered film out. “Ok, so here’s how you change the film. First you take the back off the camera,” she explained, pressing on the latch and releasing the cover. “Then you have this gap where the film goes. You don’t have to worry too much about lighting when you put the film in because it’s in a case. Here I’ll show you.” She paused, opening the film. “See? It’s in this little black box. So you just put that in. There’s this little yellow arrow here, you have to make sure that’s at the top so you know it’s the right way. Then you’re done” Ilse closed the camera and handed it back to Moritz.

 

“That’s it?” he asked.

 

“That’s it. Your first shot will just be the film, like, opening it won’t actually be a photo,” she added, moving back so that she was behind her canvas again.

 

Moritz nodded and pressed the button, watching as a thin black plastic piece came out of the camera. “I like how it says ‘This is not film’ as if that wasn’t obvious enough,” he said.

 

“You gonna take a picture of us or not?” Ernst asked.

 

“Ok, yeah.”

 

Wendla slid over so that she could hover bunny ears behind both Ilse’s and Ernst’s head. Moritz knew it would be one of the most ridiculous pictures he had of his friends. So that definitely meant it would be one of his favourites.

 

“So, how’s that drawing going?” Ernst asked, moving to sit next to Moritz, painting forgotten for the moment.

 

Moritz just shrugged. “Alright, I guess.”

 

Ernst looked at him for a moment. “Come on, let us see it,” he prompted.

 

“Oh. Right.” Moritz pulled his sketchbook out of his bag. He’d been carrying it with him everyday, though he hadn’t been using it nearly as much as that. Ilse came to sit on his other side and having two people look over his shoulder as he flicked to the right page was making him incredibly nervous, no matter who they were.

 

“Oooh, it’s turning out really well!”

 

“Hm,” Ilse muttered. She looked at the drawing for a long moment. “Something’s not right.”

 

Moritz slumped at that.

 

“Hey, relax. You’re still learning. You’ve made heaps of progress anyway. Damn, I can’t figure out what it is.”

 

“Let me see,” Wendla piped up.

 

Moritz turned the book so she could see the drawing.

 

“Oh, that’s easy. His hair isn’t floofy enough.”

 

Ilse snorted, laughing at the word choice.

 

Wendla rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. It’s not, like, pointy enough. His hair does that thing kinda like -” she broke off, gesturing with her hand.

 

“Oh yeah, like a quiff thing,” Ernst clarified.

 

“Yeah! Moritz, do you still have the Polaroid on you? I think you might just need to look at your reference a little more.”

 

“Spoken like a true artist.”

  
Ilse was shaking now, trying her best to stop herself from laughing but not seeming to be able to. “I can’t wait to tell Melchi that his hair is _floofy_ ,” she managed.

 

Wendla just rolled her eyes again and Moritz pulled his Polaroid of Melchior from a few weeks ago not out of his bag, but out of the pocket in his jacket. Ernst and Wendla shared a smirk because of it. “You just keep that with you at all times?” she teased.

 

“Shut up.”

 

***

 

With exams coming up and everyone under an immense amount of pressure, Melchior was starting to realise that studying was starting to get to him. So he did what he always did when he needed a break: he headed to the tree. The sun was starting to set in the sky, a chill in the air as he walked along the grass and he found himself hoping that Moritz would be there. He didn’t quite know why he was immediately disappointed (and perhaps a little upset?) that he wasn’t. Moritz had no obligation to Melchior and they certainly hadn’t planned on meeting up that day at all. He certainly didn’t owe him anything, and yet Melchior was still wishing that he had been there already. Maybe he needed Moritz’s company more than he thought he did. Well, he definitely had to keep thoughts like that from Ilse and Wendla, they would tease him into oblivion.

 

A slightly stronger gust of wind brought Melchior’s attention to something. A piece of paper had been pinned carefully to the trunk of the tree and was almost at risk of being blown away. _Moritz_ , he thought, as he latched onto the paper. It was folded, his name scrawled across one side in Moritz’s messy handwriting. Melchior wondered if this was another way of communication. Were they doing letters now? Letters were … adorable. Sure, if it was a letter then Moritz could have just texted him whatever he’d written but this was different. Special. When Melchior opened it he discovered that it wasn’t a letter at all. It was a drawing. Of him. His mind flashed back to weeks ago when he’d joked that Moritz should draw him, and he had been joking, but looking at what was in front of him … he just didn’t know what to say. It must have taken Moritz days, weeks even, and he’d been sure that he couldn’t draw people. He must have had to learn that, or practiced it like crazy. Maybe both. Melchior’s eyes scanned over the drawing, he really had no words. Even just the detail in his hair was incredible. Moritz was a prodigy, really. He had to tell him that. He had to tell him how amazing this all was. He had to tell him how grateful he was. That he loved it. That he loved …  _Oh_. Well, that explained a lot.

 

Moritz’s house was only a few blocks from his own. They were within walking distance which he was starting to realise he’d always been grateful, he just hadn’t realised how much he had until now. Truly it definitely helped in situations like this, when getting to Moritz was the only thing he was focused on. He practically bounded up to the front door, pressing the doorbell and bouncing with impatience as he waited. Moritz’s mother answered the door and Melchior smiled at her, halfway through asking if Moritz was in before she started pushing the door back into his face.

 

“I’m sorry, Melchior, now isn’t really a good time. I’ll … let Moritz know you came by,” she said, not really looking at him but firmly pushing the door closed.

 

Melchior felt shaken, like someone had pushed him back down to earth and he suddenly realised that something must have been very _wrong._ He could feel it. This had never happened before. Even if Moritz wasn’t home he was often let in if he intended on waiting for him. Melchior looked between the paper still in his hand and the door, confused. He was starting to feel sick. He looked around him, trying to think of a plan when he remembered that Moritz often left his bedroom window open. He hadn’t snuck through it in a few good years but that didn’t mean that he still couldn’t. At least then he might have a chance of finding out what was going on.

 

There was a very small space between the Stiefel’s wooden fence and their house which occasionally functioned as a walkway. Melchior side stepped around a few pot plants until he reached Moritz’s window, and yes, it was indeed open. Trying to remind himself that this technically wasn’t breaking and entering and surely climbing into his best friend’s bedroom window couldn’t be considered a crime at any point, he carefully pulled himself through the window. For some reason it was significantly harder than he remembered it being, which was a little bit ridiculous because he was taller now and he should have been able to get in quite easily, but Moritz had moved some furniture around over the years and he was trying to be quiet and not knock anything off the desk that he was manoeuvring around. Melchior noticed two things straight away. The first one being that Moritz wasn’t in his room, but that was fine. Moritz would have to return at some point. That didn’t mean there was anything wrong necessarily. The second was that the feeling of sickness wasn’t going away.

 

It didn’t take him long to realise why. Melchior could hear a raised voice. It was muffled, must have been down the hall or something, but it was unmistakably Moritz’s father. Melchior had no idea why he would need to yell at all, but he knew it was at Moritz. He could feel that too, the pressing weight of so much guilt because this must have happened more than once and he’d never noticed it before. No wonder Moritz needed to go to their tree so often. No wonder he was always shaky when he did. Melchior felt anger flare up and he wished that he could _do_ something about it, but he knew that he couldn’t. So he waited, jittery and pacing around the room because Moritz had to come back at some point and Melchior could make sure that he was ok. That’s what he needed. Maybe it would be what they both needed. The voice only got louder and just when Melchior started thinking that this really shouldn’t have been going on so long it stopped. It stopped abruptly, accompanied by a sound that Melchior would never be able to unhear. The sound of skin hitting skin, and Melchior felt it as much as he heard it.

 

 _No, Moritz_.

 

The bedroom door burst open and Moritz practically fell through it, gasping for air and one hand covering the side of his face.

 

_No no no no n o_

 

“Melchi? Why are - what are you doing here?”

 

Melchior thought that he could see it in the fading light from the window, a mark hiding between Moritz’s fingers, but it wouldn’t have appeared so soon. Right? “You left something for me,” he started. “At the tree.”

 

“Oh,” Moritz muttered, hand falling from his face so he could pull at his sleeves. “Yeah, I’m glad you found it before it blew away or something.”

 

Melchior moved towards to him, taking a few steps to close most of the space between them. “How often?” he asked.

 

Moritz shrugged. “Often enough.”

 

“You didn’t tell me.” He wasn’t angry. He could never be angry at a time like this. He was mostly just upset … at himself really, for not creating an environment that Moritz could tell him about this.

 

“I couldn’t … bother you with this,” he replied, staring at the ground.

 

“Moritz, never in your life have you _ever_ been a bother. Not to me.”

 

Moritz closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to let the words just wash over him. “How did you get in here?” he asked.

 

“Window.”

 

“Like when we were kids?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He looked up at him. “Don’t leave.”

 

Melchior shook his head. “Come to mine,” he said.

 

“I can’t -”

 

“Why not?”

 

Moritz hesitated. He didn’t even know if he had a reason. _God_ , he just wanted to be with Melchior.

 

“My parents aren’t home so I can use the kitchen. I can’t cook but I think we have mac and cheese,” Melchior added.

 

Moritz managed to smile at that. “Ok,” he muttered.

 

“Moritz, I just want to get you out of here.”

 

He nodded.

 

Melchior looked around them for a minute, trying to think if they needed to take anything with them but Moritz just shook his head and started towards the window. Melchior picked up the drawing before following him.

 

***

 

Moritz wasn’t entirely sure how he even made it the few blocks to Melchior’s house but at some point Melchior grabbed onto his hand and that seemed to help. He only let go when he needed to fish in his pockets for his house keys and Moritz could feel panic creeping up on him again, his breathing getting quicker.

 

“It’s ok,” Melchior reassured, pushing his front door open. “I promise there’s no one that will hurt you here.”

 

Moritz just nodded, tried to steady his breathing and let Melchior lead him towards his kitchen. He leaned against the bench and Melchior started gathering things. He turned the stove on, filled some water into a pot that he placed on it and grabbed the box of mac and cheese from the cupboard.

 

“I think you can microwave that,” Moritz muttered.

 

“I find it cooks better like this,” he explained. “Maybe that’s just an illusion but I dunno it feels more like -”

 

“You’re actually making an effort to prepare food?”

 

He smiled. “Yeah.”

 

Moritz watched as the water slowly started to boil. He guessed Melchior was sort of right. It did feel like they were actually making something. Microwaving sort of took that factor away.  “Will your mum mind?” he asked.

 

Melchior shook his head, opened the box of mac and cheese and ripped open the pasta with his teeth before pouring it into the pot. “She loves you. You know that”. _I love you_.

 

“Thanks.”

 

There was a pause as Melchior worked carefully at the mac and cheese and Moritz tried to think of what to say. Really he had no idea what to do in this situation, and he had no idea how Melchior was being so calm about it all. It was only when the mac and cheese was poured very carefully into two bowls that he found the words he wanted to say.

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

Melchior looked up at him, eyebrows pulling together in a way that Moritz knew he shouldn’t find cute. “What for?”

 

He shrugged, gestured to the mac and cheese but knew that the words were for more than that.

 

Melchior just nodded in response. “Is there anything I can do? You know, to help or something? Anything you need?”

 

Moritz didn’t really have any answers. There was just one thing that he needed. He knew that he didn’t hug people often, especially Melchior, but he just really needed it in that moment. Maybe Melchior knew, or that he could sense it because he gently pulled Moritz towards him and wrapped his arms around him. Moritz couldn’t stop himself from crying, the shock of the situation finally catching up to him. All he could really think about was that the mac and cheese would go cold because he’d completely lost his appetite.

 

“It’s ok,” Melchior whispered. He kissed the top of Moritz’s head, trying to calm down but paused when Moritz froze at the action. “Sorry, was that too much?”

 

He shook his head. “No. It was … kind of … nice.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“Is it weird if I ask you not to let go of me?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

***

 

“I think I need to tell you something,” Melchior said. He was lying next to Moritz in his bed, after Moritz had refused to let him sleep on the floor, insisting that there was enough room for both of them (and there was. Just). The two of them hadn’t said much to each other, but it was less because they didn’t know what to say and more because they were comfortable with the silence.

 

“You can tell me anything,” Moritz replied. He wasn’t entirely awake, the night starting to hit him all at once and he was beginning to realise just how exhausted he was, but he was paying enough attention.

 

“It’s probably not the best time but I don’t know if there is a best time,” he continued.

 

“Time isn’t real,” Moritz dismissed with a wave of his hand. “What does it matter?”

 

Melchior smiled at that. He focused on a point of his ceiling - one of the old light up stars he put up there when he was a kid - and took a deep breath. “Apologies in advance if my wording is terrible.”

 

Moritz turned to look at him. He wasn’t sure if he should be more confused or concerned. “This is all very dramatic, isn’t it?”

 

“I guess so.”

 

Moritz waited and as soon as Melchior realised that he was, he started talking.

 

“I can’t remember which of us mentioned it but I think it might have been me. Do you remember when we were kids and your mum thought you had a crush on me?”

 

He had absolutely no idea where Melchior was going with this but it was starting to make him nervous. He nodded anyway.

 

“Um,” he faltered. “Just … bear with me.”

 

Moritz had never seen Melchior struggle for words before. At least, not unless he was significantly overtired after pulling an all nighter to study or something. This wasn’t like that at all.

 

“You weren’t … the one with the crush. Or maybe you were I don’t really know only you can know that but - fuck I’m messing this up, aren’t I?” he turned to look at him. “Moritz, you mean everything to me … does that make more sense?”

 

“Melchi, if you’re saying what I think you are -”

 

“If I could ever be worthy of you one day -”

 

“You’ve never been the one less worthy -”

 

“And neither have you. Moritz if I’ve made you feel that way at all I -”

 

Moritz shook his head. “Oh, shut up, Melchi,” he muttered before pulling on the front of Melchior’s shirt and crushing their lips together. It took Melchior longer to respond than he was expecting, and it didn’t quite feel like he was was expecting either. It felt better.

 

Melchior was the first to pull away, shocked and breathing far more shakier than usual. “Moritz -”

 

“I love you,” he interrupted. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

 

“I love you too.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Entirely.”

 

Moritz shifted closer to him, resting his hand against Melchior’s chest so that he could feel his heartbeat through the fabric. It was racing. _He means it_ , he thought. “This is new,” he said.

 

“Yeah, it is.”

 

“I like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this feels a little disjointed at times. I had a lot of ideas that I wanted to put in and my brain works faster than my hands can type. (And sorry if there's any spelling mistakes that's all on me). 
> 
> Thank you for reading !!!


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